Remembrance Part One: A Time For War

By A.K. Stauber

“My nightmare began in the least likely place: The place of my birth and idyllic yet humble childhood.”

A story of love, war, and self-forgiveness amid the backdrop of Nazi occupied Poland. The first in a series, the brutally honest and suspenseful story of Anna, a teenage Hasidic Jew living a simple, but happy life in her small village in south-eastern Poland. That all changes the day the dreaded death squads arrive in her village the summer of 1941.

After barely escaping her own execution, Anna somehow finds the strength to go on, living a nomad existence, taking shelter wherever she can. She searches for any living family and eventually finds an aunt and cousins. Temporarily she lives a normal existence as part of their family, until her aunt makes a tragic decision.

Eventually Anna Joins a band of Jewish partisans. Here she discovers first love, and learns to kill and steal- unfortunate necessities of survival.

During Anna's journey of tragedy and sorrow, she is still able to find moments of beauty, even as she struggles with her faith.

In this first installment, Anna briefly meets the man who will come to play a vital role in her life- a man with whom she will develop a most unlikely relationship, and who will hold her life in his hands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.K. Stauber
• Release date: Nov 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310644887

A.K. Stauber

I live in rural Minnesota with my husband, four kids and our many pets. I have wanted to be a writer since I was a kid, and I believe my love of reading helped me to build strong writing skills. My earliest favorite authors were V.C. Andrews (the original), Dean Koontz, Roald Dahl and Judy Blume. Today I enjoy reading teen fiction like the Hunger Games, Divergent and Maze Runner series; suspense/thriller, some sci-fi, WWII, or stories about the complexity of relationships(ie; Kristin Hannah). I had worked on my story"Remembrance" since 2009, although it was a story I had wanted to tell long before that. Ever since I read "Anne Frank: Diary of a Young Girl" I have become obsessed with the holocaust and have read every piece of information I could get my hands on, whether memoir, fiction and non-fiction- same holds true for movies. I have been studying this subject for over twenty years. There will be a sequel to "Remembrance" called "Perdition". Review Rating: 5 stars! Reviewed By Patricia Day for Readers’ Favorite Remembrance: A Time for War by A.K. Stauber is a compelling story of the life and survival of Anna Krasynyk, a young Polish girl caught up in the horrors of the Second World War and the Nazi extermination methods used against Jews. None of us know how we would react under horrific situations, and Anna is haunted by the fact that she had not managed to protect and save her five-year-old brother when the German SS arrived in their little community of Ludzow, Poland. She felt responsible for the outcome, which resulted in the brutal murder of all those she held dear. To me, she is nothing short of a heroine. Despite the appalling family losses which took her parents and siblings, she manages to dodge the German SS, as well as the traitors that some of her countrymen became. The story will capture your attention and you might even find it impossible to put the book aside. I could not. Her pain is described with such skill that you will feel involved in her immense struggle. Her lucky escape will keep you on the edge of your seat. Her fight to survive takes her from orphan, to adult, to love. She is the reason two men compete for her love, despite the acutely dangerous and uncertain times in which they live. Which one she chooses, if any, is a part of the story that will remain undisclosed by me. Suffice to say she reaches adulthood with a clearer vision of what she needs to do for her future. A.K. Stauber’s writing is beautiful. The story draws you in immediately and refuses to let you go. By the end of the book I felt I had been running alongside Anna. Wonderfully told and obviously well researched, it is a story of unforgettable bravery. I absolutely loved this book, despite its sad content.

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REMEMBRANCE

By,

A.K. Stauber

Published by:

A.K. Stauber at Smashwords

Copyright © 2014 by A.K. Stauber

All rights reserved

Cover Art Design by Ann Almquist

Copyright© 2014

This e-book is a work of historical fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons or places, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All e-book and print versions of this novel (including free e-chapters) are the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, altered, disseminated or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author. Quotes used in book reviews are the only exception.

Thank you for downloading this e-book. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy.

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ISBN 9781310644887

This book is dedicated to my father, Eugene. Thank you for your steadfast support and encouragement in my moments of doubt. But most of all, I thank you for pushing me to reach for the stars and always believing in me.

Prolouge

It is dark and wet. I am lying in a deep, muddy trench. The sky above is starless; black as an abyss and unyielding. Heavy drops of rain fall, slow motion, loud as gunshots. I am vaguely aware of the bodies- dead human bodies- buried in the mud beneath me and around me. I can feel my body pressing against a tangled web of faces, hands and legs. Someone’s bony knee is poking into my lower back. Limp arms and fingers reach out to me beseechingly; faces with hollowed out eyes and mouths agape forever in a silent scream. All of this should bother me, but it doesn’t.

Loud cracks flash through the night. Thump – thump – thump- splash. More corpses fall into the abyss, where I lay. I slowly become aware of something light weight I have been clutching to my chest. A thick warm wetness drains from it- blood. Lightning flashes as I gaze upon it. My eyes and mouth open in horror. My heart beats faster, my limbs become like gelatin. A scream catches in my throat as I stare into the lifeless eyes of a child.

I awake with a start, my heart pounding so hard it strains against my chest. A concerned face appears beside me. Ist etwas nicht in Ordnung? Is something wrong? He asks. At first my brain does not comprehend. I am mesmerized by his light green eyes and close cropped blonde hair. His perfectly symmetrical face sports a Romanesque nose and strong jaw – all of this a picture of Aryan perfection. I think of how his looks are in stark contrast next to my dark hair and eyes. He asks again, Is something wrong? No, nothing is wrong, I thought sarcastically to myself. It was only a nightmare I had had nearly every night for nearly a decade.

Subconsciously, I gaze down about a few inches above my left wrist. A number is tattooed there. A lifetime ago I was Anna Krasynyk. Now I am A421894. And the blonde Aryan with the light green eyes lying beside me- he is SS.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every purpose under heaven:

A time to be born and a time to die,

A time to plant and a time to uproot,

A time to kill and a time to heal,

A time to tear down and a time to build,

A time to mourn and a time to dance,

A time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

A time to embrace and a time to refrain,

A time to search and a time to give up,

A time to keep and a time to throw away,

A time to tear and a time to mend,

A time to be silent and a time to speak,

A time to love and a time to hate,

A time for war and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

1

Genesis

1941

My nightmare began in the least likely place. The place where I was born and lived out my idyllic, yet humble childhood. Located in a sparsely populated agricultural region of what was southeastern Poland, somewhere between the major cities of Lvov and Tarnopol, was our small pastoral village, or shtetl, called Ludzow- population 252.

There was only one main road that led in or out of town. It started as rough cobblestone that ran through the main part of town then gave way to a dirt track. At the northern tip the road broke off into a Y. The north-western route led out of town, towards Lvov. Turning right and up a short jaunt, was our modestly appointed home nestled by a thick patch of woods. Though modest, our home was one of the nicer ones in the community- a whitewashed clapboard, 2-room house with real glass windows, but with a dirt floor like everyone else.

In this two-room house lived my parents, older brother Chaim, sister Naomi, and my beloved baby brother Jakob. Standing on the road in front of our house, we could see the main part of town and who was coming well before they arrived at our door. This fact was my saving grace.

That fateful summer I was a blissfully naïve fifteen year old. I had never travelled more than a few kilometers outside of Ludzòw, so my knowledge of the world and other customs was very limited. Even when the Russians took control of our region in ’39 I barely noticed, the days still like any other. Like other girls my age, my mind was preoccupied with boys- a boy in particular- Asher Feingold, our rabbi’s son. Asher was two years older than me. He wasn’t tall for a boy his age, but his looks more than made up for it. He had dark wavy hair and penetrating, chocolate brown eyes. He was extremely handsome with his finely chiseled facial features and strong jawline. One look at his father and you knew that Asher would be one of those lucky men who only grew more handsome and dignified with age.

My friends and I often walked down the main street, past the few businesses- the kosher butcher, general store and tailors-we even dared walk past the older Hasidic men arguing vigorously outside the Klois after morning prayers- just to catch a glimpse of Asher. As we approached his home, we would slow the pace, whispering to each other and giggling, casting nervous glances, feeling both excited and scared to see him all at once. My heart raced every time I saw him, beads of sweat trailing down my skin. I tried to pretend I had a reason to be there- not that I was there to admire his beauty or daydream about one day becoming his wife. In real life, Asher never acknowledged me.

One evening in late July, just as we were relaxing after our evening meal, we were startled by a rapid pounding on our front door. My father’s good friend, Yitzhak, stood in our doorway, his eyes swollen red, anxiety written in every wrinkle. Upon seeing him, my father was taken aback by his appearance. After a brief hesitation, Papa put his arm around his friend’s shoulders and drew him inside our house.

Yitzhak my dear friend, what troubles you? Papa asked.

Feodor, I have just returned from Lvov. Yitzhak paused, gasping for air. He clumsily stepped over to the table and fell into one of the chairs. Why, what has happened? my father asked as he joined Yitzhak at the table. By now everyone had stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to the men. Mama rushed to get Yitzhak a glass of water. He gratefully accepted it and took a long drink. Once he regained his breath Yitzhak responded, The Germans have invaded Russian territory. They are already in the Ukraine. We are now under German rule, but that is not all that troubles me.

It wasn’t so long ago when some residents of our shtetl thought we would be better off under German rule rather than Russian rule- my parents included among them, based on their past experiences from living in The Pale of Settlement. The Pale was a vast strip of land in Russian-controlled Ukraine, bordering Poland, where Jews were permitted to reside. The Pale had seen bloodshed for hundreds of years due to the violent pogroms carried out against its Jewish citizens, but the frequency and intensity of the pogroms began to increase in the early to mid- 1900’s. The pogroms resulted in rape, murder and even whole villages burned to the ground. The thing was the police and government officials didn’t seem to care- they did nothing to stop it. Prior to the outbreak of The Great War, my parents finally left and came to Poland.

What I saw in Lvov, Feodor, it’s like the pogroms were back home, maybe worse. My parents looked pointedly at each other at this declaration. Before Yitzhak could continue, Papa turned to me and said, Anushka, bring Jakob into the bedroom and stay with him.

But Papa . . . My father held up his palm to me and looked away, the non-verbal signal that I was to stop arguing. I obediently took Jakob by the hand and led him to the one room where our entire family slept, even though I was upset my elder brother and sister were allowed to stay with the adults. ‘It is so unfair,’ I thought. ‘After all, I am fifteen years old- old enough at least to listen to conversations of grave importance to all of us. Naomi isn’t much older than me- she should be sent out of the room too! Why do my parents still insist on treating me like a child?’ Feeling rebellious, I kept the bedroom door slightly ajar so I could listen in on their conversation. I spied one of Jakob’s favorite toys lying on the floor. As he was a rather restless boy, I gave it to him to keep him preoccupied.

When I arrived in Lvov in early July it had already started, Yitzhak was saying. A Ukrainian militia group rounded up some local Jews and executed them. Soon the local people thought they had a right to shoot down or beat to death any Jew they wanted for any reason. I mean, they’re even doing it out in the open- in the streets- and the authorities do nothing. Literally, the streets of Lvov have been bathed in Jewish blood. Yitzhak gulps, his belly shaking with a torrent of emotion ready to break through. He continued, Nobody did anything to stop it- not even me. I am so ashamed. Yitzhak dropped his head into his hands, covering his face.

But Yitzhak, there’s nothing you could have done. You would have only succeeded in getting yourself killed, I am sure, Papa said. Yitzhak shook his head, his face still covered. He only murmured through tears, No, no, I could have helped them- the woman-her child. But I didn’t because I am a coward.

I am a selfish coward! he roared. He stood up and started pulling at his ringlets. How I hate myself! Father stood up and grabbed Yitzhak’s arms. Please, calm down. Sit. After several minutes of quiet, Yitzhak finally calmed down.

Feodor, what is happening, why would they do this when we have been on the side of the Germans? What if it happens here? Mama asked Papa, in the high-pitched tone she used when she was scared. Papa squeezed her hand trying to reassure her. I’m sure it won’t Ina. We have only friends here in Ludzòw. Why would anyone want to bother with our little village? In the city it makes more sense, but not here.

My papa was a man with light brown hair, periwinkle blue eyes and a long bushy beard. His build was tall, but slight- arms and legs of sticks due to long hours working in the fields and little food. By contrast mama was more stout and brawny, with dark eyes and hair.

But Feodor, the Cossacks didn’t mind traveling long distances to bother with remote villages, remember? It didn’t matter the size, no one was exempt from the Pogroms. Before Papa could get in a word, Yitzhak added, If I hadn’t seen what I did in Lvov with my own eyes, and hear what I heard, I would have trouble believing it myself. But I’m telling you, right now as we speak Jews are being violently murdered all over Poland and now in the Ukraine by the military and people they once thought of as friends and neighbors.

But I thought it was just in Lvov? Papa questioned.

No. I only saw it happen there with my own eyes, but coming back I talked to many people who told me stories of the same thing happening in other places too. Many of these people barely escaped from such fates themselves. I rushed back here to warn everyone about what could happen here. We need to make preparations to fight or leave. Papa, a pacifist, immediately squashed the idea of fighting anyone. Quiet until now, Chaim, my twenty-year old brother, interjected, But where could we go?

I’ve thought much about that, Yitzhak said. Russia or Hungary are the only feasible places I can think of. If we could get to a Russian port, maybe we could sail to Sweden- perhaps even America.

Do you really think we could get on a boat to America? Mama asked, Yitzhak, her voice hopeful. I only know we could try," he responded.

After the latest report of the German Einsatzgruppen regiment committing mass murders of Jews across eastern Poland, a group of men and their wives came to our home to seek advice from my father, who was greatly respected in the community. The men gathered around our dining table to discuss the situation with a sense of self-importance.

The women were grouped in a corner of the room talking amongst themselves of mundane matters as if they were vapid creatures with nothing on their minds but cooking and cleaning. Despite this, I could see anxiety etched in the lines of their faces, and in the trembling of their hands as they attempted to sip their raspberry tea. Rachel, the very pregnant wife of Schmuel, cast nervous glances at the men as she eavesdropped on their conversation. She seemed to want to interject, but held back since women’s opinions were not valued when it came to most matters, especially political. It would have been considered disrespectful to her husband. I was supposed to be outside with the children, but I was more interested in this meeting. I had slipped inside and now stood against the wall closest to the women, quietly observing, completely unnoticed.

What should we do? Where can we go? The men were asking each other. We’re landlocked. Our enemies are all around us. Most of the men seemed to echo the same sentiments. A few felt differently. Are we really going to sit here like cattle waiting to go to the slaughterhouse? We should fight!

Fight with what? With what army?

God will look after us, Our tzadik interjected.

What, do you think there will be a magical deliverance? one man said.

There has been before in our history, the Tzadik replied.

I don’t think we have any choice but to stay where we are, Schmuel said, most of the men nodding in agreement.

No! Rachel declared loudly, just as her teacup slipped from her fingers and smashed on the dirt floor. Everyone turned to stare at her. Her husband looked horrified. For a moment Rachel stared back at the men with